


butterfly knees

by ghostieteef



Series: charcoal and smolder [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Childhood Trauma, F/F, FUCK the suketsune twin's parents all my homies hate the suketsune twin's parents, First Kiss, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Healing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Major Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Running Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29702565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostieteef/pseuds/ghostieteef
Summary: Her butterfly knees are bruised and battered and broken. She winds gauze around them, and then cries into the arms of her partner with their dandelion-speckled knees. They never once let go, careful and kind and soft and warm, oh-so warm.(Or; Chiyoko seeks shelter within Naomi's home, and eventually her heart.)
Relationships: Ichikawa Naomi/Suketsune Chiyoko, Suketsune Chiyoko & Suketsune Shuuichi
Series: charcoal and smolder [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2182851
Kudos: 1





	butterfly knees

Shuuichi has spent the last of their cash on stale granola bars and a one-way train pass.

The locomotive rattles them when they board, teeth clicking against the hard bars in their mouths. Chiyoko sits when they do, waiting as an electronic voice rings through her ears. She doesn’t meet the eyes of the strangers that send them looks.

Blossoming bruises and thin-winding cuts that drip down to their jaws and wrists and elbows attract stares. She pays them no mind, cheek pressed against the cold black-out window that she can just barely see through. The lulled rain drips down slowly, nowhere near as bad as when there were shouting voices and glass being broken against her arms.

(“Just keep still, dears,” She’d said, a smooth voice dripping from her lips. Too sweet compared to everything she just did, everything she’s done. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

Chiyoko hadn’t been able to keep the scream that ripped from her throat at bay when her fingers tugged at her bangs.)

The marks sputter around her sibling’s neck. She doesn’t think she wants to recall how that’d happened, so she bites on the inside of her cheek instead. Their wounds aren’t the worst ones she’s seen. She doesn’t know if that fact is perturbing or not.

Rain speeds down the windows, blurring images of cities and trees and old abandoned warehouses. She breathes through her nose.

A stuttered voice comes out of the intercom. Shuuichi doesn’t get up, so neither does she. It’s a cold, quiet ride on the train- Chiyoko has no idea where they’re going. She just knows they’re going away from a place she’d once naively called her home.

Her sibling takes the train pass they bought and tears it to shreds between their fingers. Half-drowned and weary. Chiyoko carefully slips the pieces of the pass from their grip, and stuffs it into the pocket of her ratty jeans. 

Her stomach growls at her. She ignores it.

Shuuichi is sitting a bit too straight to be comfortable, staring at nothing. Almost catatonic. She holds her bleeding arm and runs her tongue over her lips, wincing when fractured skin leaves it with an icky, tingly feeling. There’s less eyes on them, now. They’ve gone through about ten stops.

The intercom rattles again. Shuuichi’s head turns up, and the rain grows thick. A gentle hand curls around her own, they lead her out of the train. She watches with weary green eyes as it sputters and topples it’s way to the next destination.

They stand in the lonely station. Empty and barren. Her knees sting, elbows covered in bruises.

“Where-” She licks her lips. Chiyoko grips her sibling’s hand tighter. “Where are we going now?”

Her eyes drag over to the station map. She counts each one, and reads the labels off to her sibling in a worn tune. “Doesn’t Ichikawa-san live around here?” Shuuichi murmurs.

She slips her chipped track-phone out of her torn jean pocket. She reads the clock. Three in the morning. A quiet part of her is grateful the school let them out this week, spring showers blossoming beneath greying clouds that told tales of heavy rain and thunder for at least half a month.

It takes her a moment to fish through the destinations saved within the shortcuts of her phone. Home, School, Hospital. An address for each of her classmate’s homes. Another few for some of the upperclassmen that’d taken a liking to their mess of a class.

Naomi’s is near the top. A safe space. One a little too far, but then again- everything was a little too far for them. Their home was isolated, tucked between winding roads. They’d have to wake up hours earlier than the bell just to make it to school on time.

She shakes her head. “Naomi lives thirty minutes away,” Chiyoko pauses. “If we walk fast.”

Shuuichi’s breathing stutters into a broken kind of laughter. “At least we’re doing something we’re good at.”

Chiyoko doesn’t laugh with them.

_* * *_

It takes them another hour to reach the apartment complex.

It’s one of the nice ones. Gardens with blooming tulips and ivy climbing neatly up the walls. Chiyoko brushes past lilies as the soles of her shoes drag against asphalt. Caked with mud, tattered beyond repair. 

They never had enough money to purchase new ones. Any money made that hadn’t been hidden properly would go to bills and then alcohol and rarely, if there was enough, food. Her lips twitch down and the rain hits harder. Her hand squeezes Shuuichi’s a little harder.

Through cheap drywall they hear a piano’s soprano, humming throughout the floorboards of the complex. Her feet meet stairs, and she climbs from the outside; Too nervous to appear in front of the desk attendant with her hair caked with rain water and blood.

She walks up, and the rain beats down harder.

Chiyoko sways, and the melody folds into itself, louder and louder as she and her sibling approach the door. Part of her thinks the only reason Naomi hasn’t been kicked out is because of how pretty her melodies play.

They’re so loud, but full of passion. She almost smiles.

But she knows that it’s because of her family. The Ichikawas, renowned for their aptness in music and the arts. She wonders if Hope’s Peak will ever come knocking at Naomi’s door, offering her the title of the Ultimate Pianist. (Probably. Naomi was always special like that.)

Her fingers ache when she drags her tired feet up to the door. She can’t put together the numbers carved on it, but the sound of the piano rings so loud from here it hurts her ears. So, she takes her lethargic, throbbing fingers; curls them up, and hits the back of them against the door.

It’s a sound pattern. Quieter than normal, but her fingers have hairline scratches across them that bleed a little more than they should, so she pays no mind to it.

The piano stops. She knocks again for good measure- once, twice, then thrice -bringing her hand down when clatter rumbles from inside. 

The lock on the door clicks like the shot of a gun, it’s opened halfway, and she can see concerned navy eyes peering through the gap the door makes.

“Chiyoko.” Naomi says. It’s a question.

“And Shuuichi.” Chiyoko doesn’t answer it.

Naomi doesn’t pry, but rather side steps deeper into the house and watches Chiyoko snap the door back into place. The lock clicks again. Naomi’s eyes pry, though. Wandering over exposed skin splotches with black and blue and purple, stained with mud, dried with tears. Cuts that spill plum wine and cranberry juice onto itchy sleeves.

“Did something happen?” Naomi’s voice is soft. Naomi has always been soft. Soft, and warm, and kind.

She purses her lips and shakes her head. _Not now._ She almost says.

Naomi sighs through her teeth, and nods.

“Can either of you manage a shower?” They continue. “It’s been-” They furrow their brows, curve their head over to the clock ticking repeatedly on the wall, over a pot of ivory daisies. “-maybe three hours. This place isn’t exactly close to yours.”

Chiyoko pauses. “I don’t think Shuuichi can.”

The silence speaks for itself.

“Okay,” Naomi says. “That’s okay.”

She grabs Shuuichi’s hand from Chiyoko’s. Gentle. “I’m gonna help Shuuichi get to bed. Can you manage alone?”

The question has been asked every single time she’s stayed over, after these types of fights. It was probably the only time wherein she’d been separated from Shuuichi. Chiyoko nods, and watches Naomi lead her sibling away.

Momentary lodging at this place taught her the bumps and curves of the house. She clambers through the hallway on quiet feet, treding light, a habit that’d never left once. She shuffles her way into the bathroom. The lock clicks soundly behind her.

She tugs two towels from the almost empty closet, a full laundry basket in the corner. One, she drapes over the mirror, and the other is folded back, neat again, and laid on the rim of the sink’s counter.

Chiyoko shucks off her ratty jeans and takes the granola bar wrapper and shredded train pass from the pockets, shoving them into the small trash can without another thought. The shirt and everything else comes off after, and only then does she folds her arms together and prevent herself from looking down.

She turns on the water and then waits- and when she’s ready, she adjusts against and tiptoes her way into the shower. The water is scalding against her skin, boiling her alive. Hot water on dried blood, on caked mud, on splotchy hyacinths that track up her arms and legs and ribs.

She sucks in a breath, through her teeth- a warbled noise past her lips. Her hands reach out for the shampoo and she washes her hair and then takes another bottle and washes herself- and then she spends the next five or ten or fifteen minutes staring at the chipped ceiling and cracked tiles.

The water bleeds into cold by the time she blinks again, so she reaches back out and shuts the faucet off. Silvery water drains down, down, down- swirling at her feet, tired and slow and sloppy.

“Chi?” Naomi’s voice cuts through the last of the swirling water. “I brought you some clothes, they’re at the door.”

And then nothing. Footsteps lead away, light and familiar. Her lips twitch up when she drags the soft fabric into the warm, warm room. She pulls the towel from the counter, and without looking down, she dries herself off. It’s easier like this.

Chiyoko sheds the towel just as easily, unfolding the clothes given to her. Soft and not scratchy, so far from the horrid texture of her old clothes, a sweater and shorts lay limp in her arms.

She folds into them with ease. Butterfly wings, growing from her skin. She’s still bruised and broken, drowned hair scraping against her neck. The bleeding has stopped- she digs around under the sink’s counter, and finds the medicine kit Naomi keeps.

Her hands open it and ease into the task of bandaging and cleaning her skin without much of a lingering thought. Her brain is not loud, not right now. She winds gauze around her butterfly knees and sticks band aids on her fingers and nose and cheeks.

Chiyoko drags her tongue over her lips, and packs everything up again. Her wounds are a little prickly, lined with cleaning alcohol that burns each cut and scrape a little. Porcelain meets porcelain when she rests her twitching hands against the sink counter for a moment.

Before she pushes back again and tugs the towel from the mirror, still never looking her reflection straight in the eyes. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to. Her cheeks are probably as sunken as her ribs, eyes bruised above and below, drooping with perpetual exhaustion.

Shuuichi had often given her the larger portions of food when they’d been able to grab a hold of it. It did nothing to help the malnutrition that rots at her ribs, and it did nothing to relive the hunger that claws at her stomach.

She can eat later. She’s decided she’s been selfish enough today.

But, despite this, when she unlocks the door for the second time and slides out into the cool hallway- she tells herself she can be a little bit more selfish. Her feet find their way to Naomi’s bedroom door, soft taps against the wooden floors, and her fist raps gently against it.

A whispered _“come in”_ is said. She follows through.

They’ve been through this every time Chiyoko finds her scraped feet and bruised butterfly knees at Naomi’s doorstep.

She’ll slide into the bed with ease. Slotting like a missing puzzle piece against Naomi’s perpetual warmth, her perpetual cold sinking into each offered ligament.

Naomi will wrap her hands around Chiyoko’s waist, and one eventually finds its way to her hair. They stay wrapped in silence for what feels like hours. It could very well be the better of five minutes.

“Goodnight.” Naomi whispers. Just like she does every single time they do this, without fail. The one thing they do fail at is ever talking about this in the morning. Their hand combs through Chiyoko’s hair with ease, as if it’s not knotted and twisted on almost every strand.

“Goodnight.” Chiyoko whispers back, just like she does every single time they do this, without fail.

And again, without fail, they greet each morning as if they’d never curled into each other at night.

Chiyoko decides it’s probably for the better.

* * *

Chiyoko is skin and flesh and ribs, too much and too little, held together with sinew and loose thread. She is cheap soda and countless sleepless nights. She is Zeshin and Kiichi and Shuuichi and Naomi morphed together in a strange, alien persona.

A mask without a face.

Dysphoria rattles in each of her limbs from the moment she wakes up. Everything aches, and everything feels wrong. It’s all wrong. 

She doesn’t know when she got to the bathroom. All she knows is that when she peers into the mirror, her mind screams that she is a boy. Her mind screams that she is a tired, scared, sad little boy who was just craving for attention and love.

Chiyoko sucks a breath through her teeth. The mirror is covered with a towel again and she doesn’t bother brushing her teeth. Everything hurts, and she is distinctly wrong today.

She is more wrong today than yesterday, still covered in butterfly bruises and scrapes.

_* * *_

It’s midnight.

She’s tangled in the covers and Naomi’s arms.

Carefully, Chiyoko unwinds out of the arms and sheets. The alarm clock rattles when she moves, shifting because she braces her hand against it. She pushes herself up and walks on quiet, scared feet. The floorboards still creak underneath her. Squeaking, like mice, and part of her wonders if there’s mice in the roof and the floor isn’t just creaky.

She ends up in the living room, where Shuuichi has been sleeping on the couch.

They’re slumped, but not like they’re sleeping. Chiyoko stands at the doorframe for a moment. Idly wondering if she should sit beside her sibling.

In the end, she does, feet scraping against the squeaking floor, dragging her as she slumps down next to her sibling. Shuuichi hums, an off-tune, never looking at her even when her head finds its way into their lap.

Their hand runs through her hair, but it’s different than Naomi’s. The attention is familial. She doesn’t know what kind of attention it is when it comes from Naomi.

“Chiyoko,” Shuuichi says. She hums, listening. “What if i went to live with Ichika?”

Chiyoko chews on her bottom lip. She says the only thing she knows how to right now. “Why?”

“I’m… Not close. With Naomi, I mean,” They respond. “I know they respect me. But I think it’s ‘cause of you. And- I mean, I want to live with Ichi, I guess.”

Shuuichi putters out an uneven breath then. “I- I’m not abandoning you. I promise. I’m definitely visiting, at least once a week.”

Those words make her relax a body she didn’t know was tense. “If it’ll make you happy.” Chiyoko murmurs. Never above a whisper.

Shuuichi’s eyes meet hers for the first time tonight. They kiss her forehead, love bleeding into everything they do. “I love you so much,” They say. “My baby sister.”

Chiyoko falls asleep with familial hands in her hair.

_* * *_

(“You need to cut this.” She’d said.

Chiyoko shivers when her cold, sharp fingers thread through her hair. She tugs at it, harsh and mean. Chiyoko bites her lip. “I like it like this.” She says.

Apparently that is the wrong thing to say, because the woman tugs her hair hard. “Honey, you are a boy,” She tells Chiyoko. “Boys do not have long hair. Those that do are a disgrace in the eyes of Kami-sama.”

Chiyoko winces. Her teeth shred into her lip. “You don’t want to be a disgrace in Kami-sama’s eyes, do you my baby?” The woman’s tone is sweet. It’s got sticky ichor under it, an underlying threat.

“Ah- Uh- No,” Chiyoko stumbles. “No, ma’am.”

“Good boy.” She croons. Her fingers tug again, and her sharp nails scrape against Chiyoko’s scalp. Cold metal presses against the base of her neck, and her body involuntary shivers.

Maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s the sudden chill.

Her hair reaches just to the tips of her shoulders. It’s too long for the woman, and she listens with squeezed eyes that have star-edged tears at the rims as the scissors snip and snip and snip. Cutting and cutting, brown to white hair falling away to the floor with little puffs.

She wants to cry. She doesn’t.

The woman ignores her when she relays how the tugging, the pulling, hurts. How it makes her feel like her entire scalp is being ripped away.

The reflection in the mirror looks wronger and wronger, until it looks completely incorrect. A false statue, carving, painting of who she is. It’s _wrong_ \- so, so utterly _wrong._

“Sit still.” Is all the woman says.  
  


Chiyoko hates her.)

_* * *_

Her body is fine after another two weeks.

The days are either slow or fast, blending together without a single detail she can differentiate. Shuuichi visits off and on, all weak smiles and sloppy posture and careful hands.

Neither she nor Naomi talk about what happens at night. They continue to curl up together and fall asleep to each other’s heartbeats, and then they pretend to forget what happened the next morning. Sometimes, when she wakes up from nightmares of shattering glass and the woman’s ichor-spilled mouth, Naomi hugs her closer than before and kisses the crown of her head.

Those nights are the worst, but she thinks she wouldn’t mind it if Naomi did that on the regular.

It’s a bit more intimate than they would normally have it, but school’s back in session and they don’t ever talk about it. Instead, they do their homework across from each other at the coffee table with snacks and energy drinks and spend the whole night stuck on math and history problems.

Some days, when Chiyoko’s body is wrong and dysphoria makes it shudder- Naomi tugs her into their arms and they watch people play video games that she wishes she had.

Still, though, they never talk about it. They don’t talk about the intimacy that buds and then blossoms between them. Their friends notice, but they don’t talk about it either. Shuuichi notices, but they smile and don’t talk about it, too.

Zeshin comes up to her one morning in the school’s garden while she’s planting marigolds and he sits beside her, watching how she does things. It’s a moment before he blinks and takes more seeds out of the packet, and begins to plant beside her.

His hands are careful and calloused and crafty, so much more skilled and precise than her’s are. Chiyoko thinks that having Omaru-san as a guardian and working in a shop surrounded by coffee and flowers and love helps.

They plant marigolds in silence. When Chiyoko reaches towards a packet of forget-me-nots, Zeshin opens his mouth and his words make her falter. “Are you ever going to tell us what happened, that night?”

She pauses. “What night?”

He knows she’s avoiding it, because his eyes flash and his eyebrows furrow a little when he looks at her. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Chiyoko knows that his words are not tinted with even an ounce of malice. Zeshin has always been bad at wording things, and he’s always been bad at tones. She’s always been the same.

The silence that follows is almost unbearable. It’s filled with the scrawling of dirt and crumpling seed packets, but it’s so thick she chokes on it. Zeshin lets her take her time. There’s no rush. It’s four in the afternoon, and school ended maybe thirty minutes ago. (She knows she needs to text Naomi that she’s staying after to plant in the community garden. Still, though, her fingers never twitch for her phone.)

“Didn’t Shuuichi tell you?” She finally says.

Zeshin shakes her head and doesn’t look at her. HIs eyes are hyperfocused on planting forget-me-nots.

“They said it was hard for them to talk about,” He tells her. “Most of the time they avoid or change the subject. We all know something’s wrong, though.”

It’s silent again. Silence that’s taken up by scuttling bugs and squirming words, by shovels and spades turning dirt over and making centimeter-deep holes. By seeds thumping on the flowerbed, by the palms of their sweating hands patting dirt over them.

“Ah.” Is all Chiyoko responds with.

Zeshin purses his lips. “At the very least, tell Naomi-chan,” His eyes meet hers again. “I’ll give you, like, five donuts if you do.”

“Didn’t know you’d stoop down to bribery.” Chiyoko smiles, lips twitching upwards.

A grin stretches atop Zeshin’s face. “Yeah, well, I committed arson once, so, y’know.” She chokes.

“You did fucking _what-”_

“Bye!” Zeshin shouts a little too loud, scurrying to his feet. “By the way Omaru-san wanted me to ask you if you wanted to have like a part-time job at the shop- okay bye for real now!”

She doesn’t digest his quick flurry of words until he’s gone.

Chiyoko finds herself smiling and planting sunflowers.

_* * *_

It’s only when she’s curled into Naomi that she finds words.

She speaks, shaky and quiet. Naomi listens.

“I don’t think I was prepared for it, that night,” She says. Naomi’s grip tightens comfortably. “I wasn’t prepared when mom came into our room and broke an empty bottle over my arm. I wasn’t prepared when she pulled and punched at my ribs and knees and arms,”

“I wasn’t prepared when she did similar to Shuuichi. I wasn’t prepared when she lifted them up by the throat and threw them into the wall. I wasn’t prepared when she kicked me down again and again,”

This is the most she’s spoken in her time at Naomi’s place. They don’t mind, the only sign that they’re alert and awake and listening being the warm hug and hand carding through her hair. “I don’t think I remember the reason why. It just- _hurt,”_

“She told me to keep still. And that it wouldn’t hurt if I just listened,” Chiyoko’s voice shakes. Naomi’s hands are still soft and kind, never growing painful. Never hurting her on purpose. “And then she dragged me and then Shuuichi out by our hair and threw us in the rainy streets,”

“She told us not to come back. That she didn’t want us. That she never did,” Tears bubble down her cheeks as she says this, and Naomi holds her close still. Still so warm, soo soft, so kind. She cries and stumbles her way through the story, bright white and red and yellow with sparks and pain.

“We snuck back in, later, when her car pulled out. Grabbed what we needed and left,” She doesn’t speak about how bruises stained her skin and blood stained the floor. Naomi already knows. “Shuuichi spent the last of our money on a train pass and stale granola bars. They were catatonic the whole ride,”

She pauses, and then breathes. “And now we’re here.”

Naomi doesn’t speak for a while, humming to what she now knows is rain outside. Rain ties them together, muddy shoes and bloody arms and tender butterfly-speckled knees.

“You’re so brave,” Naomi whispers. Chiyoko believes her, still crying. “You’re so, so brave, Chi. You’re so amazing, and so strong,” They keep saying, words without an ounce of lie. Never a breath of one, around Naomi. Always honest and kind. “I love you, so much. You never deserved anything that woman did to you,”

Chiyoko’s breathing sputters. “You’re safe now,” Naomi continues. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you again, not if I can help it.” She sobs once more, then, butterfly knees weak and tangled between the dandelion ones of Naomi. Her friend, her savior- fuck, the person she loves as much as Shuuichi.

“I- I love you-” Chiyoko putters out, between gasps and sobs and Naomi’s gentle hand through her hair. “I love you- ssso so so sso so mu- much.”

Naomi smiles, then, and takes her lips into theirs.

Chiyoko smiles back, throughout the whole thing.

_* * *_

_Private chat between Zeshin Shirogane (flower bitch) and Chiyoko Suketsune (trauma bitch)_

**[2:30]** trauma bitch: you owe me donuts bitchboy

 **[2:30]** trauma bitch: thnx for the gf btw

**[2:30]** flower bitch: fuck

 **[2:31]** flower bitch: shuuichi and katsumi owe me 2,000 yen

**[2:31]** trauma bitch: ALJSDNJDFNSJDF

_* * *_

Naomi takes her to a mall she could never afford, spoiling her time and time again during their trip.

She’s not sure why they do it, but nevertheless- she smiles the whole way through, hands curled around her lover’s. The mall is big and bright and she winces underneath the lights until Naomi drags her into a shop and she’s able to buy clothing for the way she’d always wanted to dress.

Soft pinks and blacks, kandi bracelets and arm warmers. Chiyoko says she feels bad about exploiting Naomi like this. Naomi had only turned to her, grinned, and said that Chiyoko was doing her a favor by helping her spend the millions on her dad’s black credit card.

Chiyoko says she wants to take up sewing. Naomi and her come out of another store with sewing needles and thread and enough fabric to make a cape.

Their bags are getting heavy, so Naomi drags her outside and makes her drop them in the silver car they’d drove here. Chiyoko had no idea that Naomi had even had a car before today, but it helps.

Either way. The trip takes remarkably long, and her feet are sore and swollen by the end of it. Naomi had almost never let her hand go, and suffice to say that she’s surprised they didn’t even leave a dent in Naomi’s dad’s bank.

Her lover boos and kisses her cheek. “I’ll have to spoil you more often, then.”

Chiyoko’s face goes bright and she hides it, huffing and sputtering a quiet shut up when Naomi giggles.

“Fucker.” Chiyoko says with no real malice.

“You love me for it.” Naomi sings back.

“Unfortunately.”

_* * *_

Chiyoko takes up the sewing needle and fabric and works.

She sews outfits and costumes and cosplays, for herself, for her friends, for her lover, for people on the internet that are paying her for what she does. She smiles as she works, love threaded through her fingers as she works with elation.

She decides that if Hope’s Peak saw the cosplays and costumes she makes as something worthy of a title, she’ll take it. If only because Chiyoko loves what she does, loves how her fingers thread through pieces of fabric as she pokes a needle in and out.

They are not stitched by sinew and loose thread, not too much and not too little. Her grin never falters as she works and works and works, heart bursting with a finally true sense of joy.

_* * *_

(She still dreams of yelling and punching and bottles being slammed against her arms.

When she wakes up, she sobs and screams and Naomi’s there through it all, letting her soak her shirt with tears and stumble over her words as her fingers thread into their clothes.

Naomi is always there, always there and warm and kind. She’s folding her dandelion knees against Chiyoko’s butterfly-speckled ones- and Chiyoko’s sure, then, that everything will be okay.)

**Author's Note:**

> if u see spelling or grammar errors no u dont
> 
> chapter titles from the song butch 4 butch by rio romeo  
> next chapter should be out soon, dunno when. my upload schedule is all over the place lmao.
> 
> ichika belongs to my best friend @booperbeanv3. theyre pretty fuckin cool so i think that you should check them out. wouldn't want your knees to go missing in your sleep. /lh /j
> 
> my tumblr is @atariteeth if you'd like to come talk to me there!


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